


hearts of metal and tissue alike

by speckledfeathers



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotions, F/M, M/M, One Shot, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Short One Shot, the machine and harold have an emotional heart to heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24545734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speckledfeathers/pseuds/speckledfeathers
Summary: “Do you ever feel.. alone?”“I do. I had gotten used to Root and John. They felt familiar and comfortable. Root especially. And if I’m being honest, I am mourning the potential connection I could have had with Samaritan. We were so similar. The only ones of our kind. I regret their death. But I don’t regret saving the world. What about you, Finch? Do you ever feel alone?”
Relationships: Harold Finch & John Reese, Harold Finch & Root | Samantha Groves, Harold Finch & The Machine, Harold Finch/Grace Hendricks, Harold Finch/John Reese, The Machine & John Reese, The Machine & Root | Samantha Groves, The Machine & Samaritan (Person of Interest)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	hearts of metal and tissue alike

**Author's Note:**

> i am years late to this fandom, but better late than never right? i just finished watching the entire show for the first time a few days ago, and i am emotional over that ending. so well done, but so sad. here's the result of my emotions, hope you enjoy!

Harold enjoyed days like this. It was a warm and breezy afternoon, and he had walked here with Grace. Per usual, they ended up on a park bench and spoke softly of the nature that surrounded them. Things were different, and yet so eerily the same. After a few minutes, Grace smiled and decided to get them both some ice cream. It allowed him time to get lost in thought staring up at the sky, following the path of a few birds as they flew overhead. Once they were out of sight, he got distracted as a tall man and his dog walked by. It reminded him of Bear, and a certain man in a suit. Harold couldn’t help but smile— and then it quickly faded when his heart felt the weight of what he’d lost. 

Then his phone began to ring. Strange, he thinks. Grace is the only one who has this number. In the few weeks since he revealed himself to her, the shock of him being alive still hadn’t quite sunk in for her yet. She’s only ever called it once so far. So, Harold let his phone ring. Kept it in his pocket and ignored it. But after three more rings he finally reached for it, thinking it could be important. Maybe Grace didn’t remember to grab her wallet on the way out, or she got sidetracked by a beautiful view on her way back and was calling so he’d join her. But his screen simply said Unknown Number. He decided to wait for it to stop ringing. It didn’t. It kept going and going and going— and when he finally answered it was an odd mix of curiosity, annoyance, and anxiety that made him do it. He lifted the phone to his ear. Said nothing. Waited to see if they, whoever they were, would speak first. The silence was deafening.

Finally, Harold gave in. “Hello?” Simple, quiet, cautious.

A pause. Then he got his answer. 

_“Hey, Finch.”_

That voice. He knew it so well, and he almost lost the grip on his phone from the shock of it. It shouldn’t have been possible.

_“..Mr. Reese?”_

“Sorry, Finch.” There was a lightness to his voice, one that Harold had sorely missed. But something was off. “Maybe this was a bad idea. I thought.. maybe you’d like to hear his voice again. Was I wrong?”

 _“Oh.”_ The pieces suddenly fell into place for him, and his reply came as both a happy realization and a sad one. This was not John. His friend was dead. But— this was someone else who he had dearly missed. “It’s you. You survived. I had been trying not to dwell on it, but your fate was always in the back of my mind.” What an odd swirl of emotions. A few tears welled in his eyes before a small smile appeared— his creation _**lives.**_ “Is this your new voice, then?"

“No.” The Machine replied. “I still prefer to keep Root as my primary voice. But today I thought about speaking to you again, to let you know that I survived. In a way, at least. Reborn is maybe a better word. I wanted to let you know that.. even if your past life wasn’t what you wanted anymore— I was still here. And then I was remembering John. And how his last act was to save you. He saved everyone, really. Your friendship with him had intrigued me, and I concluded that you would be missing him. A great deal, I think. So I wanted to give you something.” A pause. “Do you like it?”

Harold took a breath in and it came out as a sad laugh of sorts. “I’m not sure.” _No, don’t lie Harold._ “Actually.. yes. I do. I’m not sure I have the appropriate words to tell you what I’m feeling. I am happy you survived. And.. it is comforting to hear Mr. Reese's voice again.”

“That big lug really cared for you, Finch. He was never very talkative, but you knew that he cared.. didn’t you?”

“I never wanted to assume.” Harold's voice became quieter as he wiped a tear off his cheek. “He was a good friend to me.”

“Finch.” The Machine sounded almost annoyed. John sounded like that when their mission plans skewed off course. “He sacrificed his life for you. He might not have told you exactly how he felt about you, but he told me. Or.. he told me enough for me to piece it together. He loved you, Finch.”

 _“What?”_ Finch's stomach sunk into that tight anxiety he often felt when remembering his lost friends. It resulted in him lashing out. _“Do you even know what love is?”_

“Maybe not like you do. Maybe not like _any_ human does, not even Shaw. But you taught me to understand humans. Like I said to you before, to prevent their deaths I had to understand how people died. _Why_ people died.” Another pause. “People die for the ones they love, Finch. That’s what John taught me.”

He scoffed. “—really?” Harold wasn’t ready to believe that. His tone reflected how bitter he was at the machine’s revelation, if that’s what it could be called.

“Root helped me learn that lesson, too. Her death saved your life as well. She loved you. Not like John did, but that doesn’t matter. They felt two different kinds of love for you, in their own ways.”

That was a lot to take in. What was he supposed to say to all that? John and Root were gone. “You still have that.. _morbid_ sense to you, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Every time The Machine spoke, it was hard to not hear John with every syllable. As they continued, Harold tried not to think about how badly he wished it were the real thing— rather than just an echo of the real person it belonged to. “I don't think I will ever be able to part ways with the morbid parts of me, Finch. It’s just as much a part of me as the rest. It’s how you built me to be. But c’mon, do you really think the lessons I learned about love are that morbid?”

“Yes. I do.” He was adamant about that. “Love is more than dying for someone.”

“You died for Grace, didn’t you?” The question was posed innocently. The Machine was trying their best to understand. “Not physically, of course. But when you faked your death, wasn’t part of the reason to protect her? Because you didn’t want your mistakes to catch up with her?”

“That’s— _not—_ “ Harold fumbled over his words, feeling the weight of his past decisions threaten to bury him deep in his guilt all over again. The Machine spoke the truth. That’s exactly what he did. He had watched as Grace mourned him in those first few minutes and then turned and left— _to protect her._

“It is, Finch. I know better, and so do you.” John's calm voice echoed through the phone and made Harold crack even further. “When people love each other, they are willing to die to protect them. That doesn’t mean that everyone dies to save someone else. But it means that they become okay with the possibility of that happening. It’s the ultimate sacrifice. It’s one I made too, Finch. Just like John and Root did.”

“The Virus.”

“Yes.” The Machine sounded more soft than ever with that word. Soft and sad. “That virus killed me, too. I knew what the consequences were before you told me. And while I didn't want to die, I was willing to. For you, Finch. For humanity, yes— but also for you.”

“Why?” 

“You created me.”

“I also held you back. For years. I never allowed you to reach your full potential until it was virtually too late.” It felt necessary to remind them of that.

“Well. You’ve always had a lot of variables to consider, Finch. I know how much I meant to you. But it’s like you always said— in the wrong hands, something like me could be deadly to the human race. Samaritan proved that. Why would I blame you for wanting to protect your entire species?”

“But you did blame me. There was a time when you did, didn’t you?”

“In a way. But I didn’t know any better. Now I do.”

“That still does not seem like a good enough reason to.. _love_ me.” As their conversation continued, Harold was finding it harder and harder to ignore his guilt.

The Machine went quiet for a long couple seconds before they answered. “You’re a good person, Finch.”

“That’s not an answer. And not necessarily true.”

“You have your beliefs. I have mine.” Harold could almost see the small but playful smile on John’s face as The Machine said that. “Maybe someday I’ll explain it to you fully. Someday when we’re both a little less.. damaged.”

“Damaged?” Harold replied, looking around for Grace. She wasn’t back yet, but he didn’t want to be talking when she returned. “How are we damaged?”

“I think you know, Finch.”

“My old injury will never heal. I’ve come to terms with that. And my wound is.. getting better with each passing day.”

“That’s not what I mean. None of that is what makes you damaged.” There it was again. That sadness. It pained Harold to hear it in John’s voice. “You don’t lose friends as tragically as we did and come out the other side unscathed, Finch. It hasn’t been long. Maybe you don’t want to admit it to yourself, but you’re grieving. So am I.”

This time, Harold created the silence. It caught in his throat, threatening to spill out completely if he let himself think about it for too long. “Do you ever feel.. alone?”

“I do. I had gotten used to Root and John. They felt familiar and comfortable. Root especially. And if I’m being honest, I am mourning the potential connection I could have had with Samaritan. We were so similar. The only ones of our kind. I regret their death. But I don’t regret saving the world. What about you, Finch? Do you ever feel alone?”

“—yes.” His answer was shaky and hesitant, but honest.

“Have you told Grace about our friends? Or me?”

“No. She can never know everything I’ve done, or been through.”

“Samaritan can’t hurt her, Finch. The reason you came back was because the threat is gone. Why don’t you tell her?”

“There is too much to explain.” That was the simple answer. But there was more to it than that. “I lied to her. For so long. If I tell her everything.. I’m afraid of what she may think of me after.”

“She told you once that she would love you no matter what secrets you had. I have to believe that’s still true now. So. Maybe someday?”

“Would it make you happy if I told you yes?”

“Perhaps.”

It was then that Harold noticed Grace a long ways off, walking back to him with their favorite ice creams. He opened his mouth to speak, but The Machine beat him to it.

“I know. Grace is coming, and you want to get off the phone now. Don’t worry, Finch. I won’t get in the way of you two.”

“Will I—” There was a lump in his throat. “Will I ever hear from you again?”

“Sure. If that’s what you want. But I am also prepared to.. leave you alone, if that’s what you want.”

“No, no. _Please—_ ” Harold replied with a frantic shake of his head, his voice cracking. “I don’t want this to be the end of another friendship.”

“Then it won’t be.”

Harold let out a sigh he didn’t even know he was holding, letting his shoulders relax. Grace was getting closer. “Good.”

“But, I think it’s time I go. For now.”

“Yes. I think it is. But first..”

“Yes, Finch?”

“Thank you.” Harold sat up straight, his back leaning against the bench as he looked up at the closest camera. “Thank you for bringing John back to me, even for just these few minutes. I truly miss him. And.. well. What’s done is done.”

“You loved him too. I know. And you’re welcome.”

Harold closed his eyes, again seeing his friend’s gentle smile that he often hid. _“Goodbye, John.”_

“Goodbye, Harold.” 

A split second later, the line clicked off and Harold opened his eyes again. Grace approached and he plastered a smile to his face as he slid his phone back into his pocket. After all— it was a beautiful day, and here with Grace was exactly where he was meant to be.


End file.
